


And Suddenly I Saw You There

by gayalondiel



Series: watsons_woes July 2011 challenge [19]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slash, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayalondiel/pseuds/gayalondiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Major Watson, on leave from D-Day training, meets an old acquaintance in Bletchley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Suddenly I Saw You There

**Author's Note:**

> watsons_woes LJ community posted a daily prompt challenge for July 2011 wherein you had to respond within 24 hours. These are my responses, so they are a little hasty and unpolished. Also damned weird.
> 
> July 19: A Foggy Day
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** The Holmes characters fall in the public domain and are the creation of the wonderful Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. No ownership is implied or inferred. This is done for love only. The Special Guest is the creation of Stephen Moffat and the appropriation of Russell T Davies, now belonging to BBC Wales.

The bar was stuffy, smoke rising in curls and wisps from the burning ends of cigarettes to coat the ceiling in a rich veil. The lamps glowed orange and the windows were covered with thick blackout screens. At one end of the room a lounge singer crooned a Gershwin number, accompanied by a slightly out of tune piano, and the couples arrayed at tables nearby murmured appreciatively. The RAMC major peered through the gloom, looking for a familiar face. Across the room, the tall, dark-haired RAF captain leaning on the bar caught his eye and raised a hand in greeting, before turning to the barmaid and ordering a pint of bitter and a whisky. The major joined him and shook his hand enthusiastically before accepting the pint.

“John! My dear fellow, how are you?” the captain, emphasising his American accent enough to draw the attention of the men and women nearby. The major laughed and shook his head.

“Well enough, thank you, Harkness.”

“How many times, John? Call me Jack.” Doctor Watson merely chuckled, and Jack laughed in return, his eyes sparkling. They turned to lean against the bar, surveying the room as they spoke. Watson talked vaguely of the training being undertaken at Southampton, where he had been working for a months attached to a camp of infantry running drills for something he couldn’t explain and Jack knew better than to press about, although he suspected it had to do with the careful attention being paid on base to the early spring weather patterns. Jack reciprocated with spirited chatter about the local RAF base he was attached to, stories of hijinks and mess games that made Watson’s sides ache with laughter.

Eventually Jack leaned over to catch the busy barmaid’s eye for a third whisky, and then fixed Watson with a look.

“Seriously, John,” he said. “You didn’t come to Buckinghamshire just to see me, more’s the pity. What’s her name?”

“Whose name?” asked Watson innocently, but his eye twitched nonetheless. Jack smiled.

“Have it your way, then, but she’ll turn up soon enough. I know that look, you’re waiting for someone, all right.” At that moment the door clattered open and Jack looked over expectantly, noting the way Watson pointedly did not look. “Not her,” he said in disappointment. “Shame. You don’t see those chaps in here every day, though,” he added, nodding at the small group of men in smart civilian clothing now making their way to the bar at the other end of the room. “Boffins and Debs. Well, the boffins anyway, I don’t think I’d want to see all those crusty professor types in evening dresses, no matter how smart they are. God only knows what they get up to at that estate of theirs. The young chap, now... I wouldn’t say no to him in a white gown. Or any gown. Or no...” Jack trailed off, realising that Watson should have been reacting with horrified amusement for several seconds now. He glanced down at him and saw that he was looking, transfixed, in the direction of the group of civilians. Jack looked back, and as he did so the youngest among them, a tall, thin brunet, no more than 25 years old at the most, looked up. The invisible spark of electricity that flew from him to Watson almost burned Jack by proximity.

“Ah,” he said. “An old friend, is it? I’ll leave you to it, old man.” Watson started and glanced up to say something, but Jack shook his head with a smile. He leaned in, whispered “I’ll want details later,” and then slipped away through the smoky air to a group of RAF acquaintances at a table near the singer, now huskily murmuring an appropriated Glenn Miller number.

He settled into the conversation at once, but managed to keep an eye on Watson. He watched as the young boffin glided across the room to him, noticed how both men smiled, how their handshake lingered, how Watson lit the taller man’s cigarette with careful, almost intimate movements. They spoke for a few minutes during which a few Wrens of Jack’s acquaintance who were attached to the Fleet Air Arm wandered over to indulge in some innocent flirtation with him and his companions.

Next time he looked, Watson was moving towards the door, but looking over to catch his eye. Jack excused himself and hurried over. Watson introduced him to the young man, a graduate student named Holmes, who gripped his hand just slightly too firmly as he shook it and looked at him with piercing eyes. Jack gave him a winning smile in return, schooling it as best he could to be non-threatening.

“We’re just out for a walk,” Watson said slightly cagily. “We haven’t spoken more than a few words in ages, you know how it is. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” replied Jack. “You boys enjoy yourselves, I’ll see you tomorrow and you can catch me up then.” He winked. Watson gave him a alarmed smile as Holmes guided him towards the door. Knowing him, a walk was probably all it would be, but he hadn’t seen that look in Watson’s eyes for the whole time they’d known one another. It was good to see.

Jack, looking after them, indulged in a wistful smile before turning his attention back to the pretty blonde Wren who was now fluttering her eyelashes as the music picked up once more. He straightened his jacket and made his way back over to take her hand and draw her up to dance.


End file.
